


even if it's a lie

by sevensparrowsofrhye



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Comfort/Angst, F/M, One Shot, Pre-Canon, five meta, five/delores - Freeform, mentions of hargreeves siblings, set in the apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 12:21:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30021702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevensparrowsofrhye/pseuds/sevensparrowsofrhye
Summary: Delores had a jacket herself, red sequins twinkling in the glaring sunset, which would be romantic if she was not a mannequin, her consciousness living alongside Five’s in his mind. He was well aware of this predicament, but once you are the last living soul in a wasteland, one has little care for the semantics of how healthy it was to have a fake girlfriend.
Relationships: Dolores/Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	even if it's a lie

**Author's Note:**

> trigger warning for suicidal ideation, alcoholism, and eating disorders. please proceed with caution!   
> title is from matt maltese's "even if it's lie". I suggest listening to any of his music while you read!

The apocalypse was cold. For months, it burned like Rome was falling, buildings smoldering away, precious resources burning away within the crumbling walls. Ash had rained down once the fires stopped, coating the world in a layer of destruction on everything that was left untouched. But now, all fire and ash had ceased, only leaving emptiness in its wake. 

Five bundled himself up in copious amounts of jackets, his little escapade to a department store the month prior paying off. Delores had a jacket herself, red sequins twinkling in the glaring sunset, which would be romantic if she was not a mannequin, her consciousness living alongside Five’s in his mind. He was well aware of this predicament, but once you are the last living soul in a wasteland, one has little care for the semantics of how healthy it was to have a fake girlfriend. 

He had found her before he even found his family, as he had known his family had no chance despite what he told himself in those early days. Five had halfway expected Klaus to just sit back up like when they were kids, as even the hardest of blows that could even hurt Luther, never really seemed to kill him. Of course, now he realized that was just childhood resilience, not some hidden power.

Vanya, of course, had detailed this in her book, as every nook and cranny that had become blurry for Five came rushing back once he found it. His siblings may have had little care for the book, but at this point, her words were a lifeline for piecing the puzzle together. Before any of them had even turned eighteen they had flown the coop just as he had, but with somewhat more success, save for Ben.

What if he had been able to stay behind? What if he had not chosen to jump because of his own arrogance, leaving behind his family and the luxuries of non-expired food and warm beds? What if he had been able to grow up beside them, and at the very least prevent Ben’s death? 

Thinking of the past hurt more than his present, but if he did not think of it, it would eat away at him, as the thoughts swirled around his mind like a punishment. Guilt ripped through him so often it became a friend. Without it, he lost his meaning, as he could have simply died in the early days of the apocalypse, letting himself waste away like the rest of the earth, the moon shining down on the decay.

He would be eighteen any day now, finally no longer the sobbing boy in a wasteland. 

The wind picked up, the temperature bone-chilling and bringing along with it small chunks of ice, them hitting the ripping canvas walls around him. Winter took hold much earlier than it used to, as surely the sudden deficit of humans and excess of fire and ash had impacted the atmosphere to some degree.

“You know, I think it's my birthday tomorrow. How nice, the world had decided to freeze me to death on the precipice of adulthood.”

_ Being cynical won’t help you not freeze. _

“No, but living as an angsty teenager is all I have left. Let me live.”

_ I am trying to help you live, believe it or not. Your fire is going to go out before nightfall, so I suggest fixing that because I like you and refuse to watch you become a human icicle.  _

Begrudgingly, he got up and began to tend to the fire, him happy to absorb some of the heat from the flames. He was surrounded by all of his equations, them looking just as daunting as they felt as he looked up. The calendar he created was sloppily drawn beside Delores’ head, the month ending perfectly on a Saturday; it was September 30, 2023, marking nearly 21 years since he left home and the eve of his eighteenth birthday, give or take a month. No point in dwelling upon how long it has been; he will either get back to his family in another 21 years time or die trying, no matter how depressing it may be. 

_ I know you swear that you don’t dwell on the past but we both know you’re quite the liar in that head of yours.  _

“Delores, I don’t dwell. Just another couple of months and I will have the equations right, it just takes time." He says this through gritted teeth as if she was challenging him, not a moment of self actualization that he was projecting onto her plastic self.

_ You have said the exact same quote on repeat since you were thirteen. I know you, there is no use in lying. You'll get the equations, it may take longer than months, all you have to do is admit it instead of placing yourself in an arbitrary timeline that only stresses you out. _

With a huff and a snarl, Five stormed out of his alcove in the broken library, the expanse of road beside it, covered in debris, being the target of his anger. He kicked a discarded can across it, it blowing away in the freezing breeze, of which had reached Five’s skin. She was right of course, the repetition of his words was constant, but what was to be thought aside from the notion of returning home and the ever ruminating guilt?

**_“_** I told you so, Number Five, as your delusions of time travel were simply that, _delusions_ , and you wasted all potential that you may have possessed on ideas of saving the world, which are all beyond your capabilities!”

Speculating Sir Reginald’s words were certainly more damaging than his own thoughts. Those seemed to echo around the sides of his mind even more than his own self critique, which is saying something. His father may have been right to a certain degree, but he wished beyond belief that he could prove him wrong.

He felt as if he were on the edge of either greatness or death; one was obviously preferable, but the line he was walking was thin, tilt too far off the edge and all control was lost, nobody to catch him before he fell. Time was fickle and quick, one wrong variable and he could be set back years, but if he did not try it was as if he was surrendering to fate.

He had to catch himself before he fell. There was no other option. 

Five shivered as the wind continued, but in an odd way, it felt comforting in the pain he felt, as it confirmed he was still alive, but doubled as punishment for his predicament.

_ Come back before you catch a cold. I'd hate to lose you to something avoidable. Standing out there does nothing to help clear your head. How about actually consuming something other than wine? _

With a deep breath and a glance towards the field beside him, he walked back to his camp, snatching up a can as he went along. Canned food was his current lifeline, aside from alcohol, as non-perishables were the staple of apocalyptic living. Tonight appeared to have a so called hearty potato soup on the menu, if it could even be considered that years after its initial expiration date, with him haphazardly sitting the can on the grill above the fire. More than once he has burned himself on the flames or dropped his food into the burning wood, much to his chagrin.

_ Must we eat in silence? It's the eve of your birthday, sparing a battery for the radio won't be your death. _

"You say this as if I purposely chose to live in silence or fear of running out of batteries."

_ Yes, but that does not mean you are incapable of doing something to make life more bearable. _

"I am perfectly capable of making life bearable myself, thanks."

Her eyes were emotionless, but yet they made him feel like she was judging his every move. Despite his reservations, he moved across the camp, finding a small red radio and set of dusty cassettes. As he had collected items over the years, cassettes and CDs had made their way into his hoarding stash even if they were barely listened to now. He put a cassette in the radio, turning the dial to be met with the opening notes of the first song playing.

_ At least the years out here didn't ruin your ability to do something for yourself. Eat for me? _

With a nod, he cracked open the can unceremoniously, and with a half-hearted cheers to Delores, he drank a sip of the separating broth. It was disgusting, but he had little choice. 

_ Handsome. _

“I look like I’m dying.”

_ Doesn’t mean I don’t admire you. It's gonna get better. _

“And how do you know?”

_ I just do. _

He let out a scoff at her words, then inhaled a plume of smoke from the fire. Spluttering, he moved away from the fire, taking gulps like a dying man. God, why the fuck did he try anymore? No matter what it was just getting colder and harder to find food, and who cared? Everyone was long dead and no equation made sense anymore so what was the point? 

His knees sent shocks of pain up his legs as he slumped to the ground. A broken sob left his mouth without permission, and it was embarrassing despite the lack of anyone to witness it. It felt as if death could take him easily, a few skipped meals and he would be gone. He could simply sleep and never wake up, leaving himself to be at the mercy of the elements. No more pain, no more guilt, no more stress. God, just some sleep in a bed that wasn’t made of half shredded blankets would be welcome. 

_ Get up. No arguing. Finish eating and get some sleep. You'll feel better, I promise. _

“You can’t make me,” he growled out, in a voice that did not sound like his own. 

_ Yes, I can. You listen to me more than yourself. I love you, and I can’t bear to see you like this. _

“Delores, I’ll be fine.”

Even as he wanted to argue with her, Five still heeded her words, choking down the rest of the soup and throwing the can outside the circle of broken walls with a small  _ clink _ . However, he did make a small detour to grab a bottle of wine, popping out the old cork with a knife and taking a swig.

_ I said sleep, not drink. You're still young, it can't be good for you. Boiling water isn't that hard, you know? _

“It helps me sleep, and you aren’t the boss of me.”

_ Ah yes, drinking a can of soup and half a bottle of wine in less than five minutes definitely won’t make you miserable.  _

“I’ll sleep before I get sick. I’ve done worse.”

_ You say that like you’re beating the system, instead of just being an alcoholic with an eating disorder. _

She was of course, right, but he would not let her know that. Rolling his eyes at her, he turned, trying to make the mess of blankets that he deemed to be his bed somewhat comfortable. Once satisfied, he stripped off his top layer, throwing them in a pile beside him. And no matter how much he and Delores argued, he still loved her in the end. Grabbing her, he took off her coat, letting it land in the pile with his clothes, and put her in the bed, tenderly wrapping a blanket around her shoulders. He lay down beside her, him curling his lanky body almost protectively around her small one. 

He was alone. Nothing could fix it aside from his own motivations. However, Delores eased the pain of emptiness, despite her being hollow plastic devoid of flesh and blood. Her criticisms, praise, and frustration may all be his, but she made everything a little easier. Pulling her tight against his body, he could almost pretend she was alive, as the warmth from his body transferred to hers. Even if it was a lie, he had at least tricked his mind into the illusion of companionship.

"I love you too, Delores."

_ I know you do, my love. _

Five and Delores, an unusual couple made of hope, sadness, and above all, love.

**Author's Note:**

> this hurt me to write, and is it because it is terrible or is it the angst? we will never know. also it is glaringly obvious I watched wandavision as I wrote this but wanda/vision parallels five/delores and you can't prove me wrong. 
> 
> as always, you can find me @kittydeetz on tumblr. kudos and comments are greatly appreciated! stay safe and have a great day, <3.


End file.
